


50 Shades of Tartare

by PKA



Category: Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50 Shades of Grey Fusion, Angst, Cannibalism, Fluff, How Not to Use Ben&Jerry's, Inspired by 50 Shades of Grey, Jealousy, Lots of it, M/M, Murder, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Public Hand Jobs, SM is cannibalism, Scarification, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, Still a Healthier Relationship Than 50 Shades, This was supposed to be crack, but they still have some kinky sex, ugh the tags get better and better on this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PKA/pseuds/PKA
Summary: What if the 50 Shades Darker movie was what happened in Hannibal post-S3?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the 50 Shades Darker movie the other day and while it was pretty horrible overall, there were some Hannibal parallels that needed to be explored! So here it is - the 50 Shades AU no one asked for. Most of the dialogue is taken directly from the movie, and while I left out some bits of the story and "slightly" altered some of the others, it still mostly follows the 50 Shades Darker plot. Just, you know. With SM being cannibalism.
> 
> Updates Sundays, with the second chapter coming a little earlier on Thursday the 23rd because I'll be at RDC3 on Sunday!

White roses - at least twenty, a bouquet of them - have been positioned strategically on the kitchen countertop.

It’s 4.30 in the morning and the house is quiet. Hannibal is in his room, probably still asleep, but the roses are here, for Will to find them on his way out.

They are beautiful, that much Will has to admit as he touches one of the blossoms, feels the cool softness under his fingertips. They smell of heavy sweetness, of pureness, of austerity. 

His first instinct is to throw them in the trash.

For a moment he considers storming into Hannibal’s room to ask him what they are supposed to mean. Force contact where he doesn't want any. Then he notices a small cream-colored card among them on which a few words have been written in a familiar, elegant copperplate.

_Have dinner with me.  
\- H._

Will rolls his eyes, takes a pen from one of the kitchen drawers and writes his answer on the underside of the card.

_under one condition: cook something vegetarian  
I’ll be back by 5_

~ - ~

Hannibal certainly has changed.

It surprises Will - he hasn’t seen him much since their recovery. When Will isn’t at work or out fishing, he keeps to himself in his room, avoiding Hannibal at all costs.

He has become scruffy, his hair and beard shaggy. He has gotten older - his hair mainly consists of many different shades of grey now. It would be a good look on him if he didn’t appear so pale and sick at the same time. Regardless, it’s a good disguise. Will himself probably wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the few scars on his face he is so familiar with.

Averting his gaze, Will pokes at his salad listlessly. “So. Let’s talk.”

It feels weird, being together like this after such a long time. Eating Hannibal’s food, having conversations over dinner; honesty and avoidance merging into one feral beast that threatens to bite them both.

“You are distant,” Hannibal says, straight to the point. “I’d like for that to change. I’d like to negotiate terms.”

It seems like too much trouble, having to deal with their evolving relationship, with his equally evolving feelings for Hannibal. He had months to think, but still, Will hasn’t come to any conclusion about how to proceed.

With a sigh, he puts his fork down. “I don’t see how. The things you want… that’s the way you are.”

Even after all these years, Will can’t say he quite understands Hannibal. He and his actions are a mystery: sometimes pleasant, often not so.

“What happened on the cliff... it’s not going to happen again,” Hannibal states.

That does not come as a surprise. Hannibal wants things to change and Will is sure he would say anything for that to happen. He knows just what to say to get Will’s attention, to manipulate him in the desired direction. But Will does not forget so easily, cannot ignore the pile of bodies Hannibal has amassed since he fled from the BSHCI, not all of them required sacrifices.

“Yeah, you say that. I know that I said that it was… beautiful - and it was, in that moment. But… I can’t do this with you, Hannibal. Not the killing, not the eating. Not without destroying myself, not like you enjoy it. And that… that’s still in you.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Working on what?” Will looks up again when Hannibal doesn’t answer. He looks more pained than usual, conflict clear in his sad eyes. “You wanted to talk,” Will adds, quietening his voice to an intimate whisper. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Will considers for a while. “Tell me about Mischa.”

Hannibal closes his eyes at the mention of her name. “I didn’t kill her, but I ate her. I was forced to, by the men who murdered her.”

Hannibal sounds emotionless, but that means hardly anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I did, after I carried you home from Muskrat Farm. But you were… asleep at the time.”

“Okay. Generally, a big part of communication is that both parties be conscious,” Will says with a half-smile. Then, “I’m really sorry about Mischa.” 

“It’s in the past. It has nothing to do with… what I am.”

Will takes a big sip of wine, lets the new information circulate for a moment while Hannibal continues eating. “You wanted to negotiate terms, right? No secrets anymore, Hannibal. No killing. No cannibalizing.”

“I can do that,” Hannibal says, firm. “Meaning we’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.”

Will looks at him for a long moment. “But you need all those things.”

“I need you more.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it sounds so heartfelt, so honest, that Will is sure Hannibal has spent hours sorting out his priorities. Perhaps his appearance isn’t the only thing that’s changed. Despite knowing better, Will wants to give him another chance at this.

He simply nods, because that is all he can do, and ignores the warm feeling in his chest while they finish their meal in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

They draw closer over the next few days, spending more and more time in each other’s company. Will is careful at first, doesn’t want to rush in, but it quickly becomes easy and normal again to be around Hannibal.

Despite that development, Will is happy to go to work each day. Being idle doesn’t suit him and a little distance is good to figure out what exactly Will wants out of their relationship, what exactly it is he is ‘comfortable’ with.

His hands need something to do while he’s thinking, and working with the dogs at the local shelter helps. He hasn’t asked Hannibal if they can keep some in the house. Not because he fears Hannibal’s rejection, but mainly because he hasn’t started to feel at home yet.

His Spanish is still rusty, but at least he’s getting along well with his colleagues. He is known as ‘Flynn’ to them and they have learned by now that he is better with the dogs than the customers, not only because the scar on his face tends to scare people.

It’s an exhausting day, with lots of laborious tasks under the merciless sun, but Will doesn’t mind. He’s thinking about Hannibal, about the way he said ‘I need you more’ when suddenly, his work is interrupted by a visitor.

Truth be told, they rarely get customers. Most dogs are here to die and Will tries to make their short lives as eventful as possible, playing and cuddling with them and showering them with treats. He tries not to emotionally invest, tries not to pick favorites, but fails on a daily basis.

Will smiles at the stranger. It’s a woman - probably in her twenties, though she looks older due to the bags under her eyes, her ghostly pale skin, and her unkempt hair. She appears lost among the dogs which are milling around her barking happily, wanting to be petted.

“¿Le puedo ayudar?” Will asks. He probably can’t help her - if she wants to adopt, she’ll have to talk to one of Will’s superiors.

Before Will can wonder how she got in here without a supervisor in the first place, the woman looks up at him and he instantly knows something isn’t right. Something is scuttling behind her flat, lifeless eyes, like a gigantic tick looking for a good place to bury its gnathosoma in the warm, thin skin of an unwary victim. 

“Who are you?” Will asks, more to himself than to her. _What is your design?_

Just a whisper, but she answers, her voice eerily soft. “I’m nobody.”

Will’s heart beats faster in his chest. This person is dangerous, in one way or another. There is something about her, something not yet uncovered. It reminds him of...

“Flynn?” a voice asks from behind him and he turns around to make out the source.

It’s Valentina - the only one of his colleagues who is fluent in English. She’s a sturdy woman, loud, enthusiastic and a good person, all around. She’s at least as old as Will, but she looks younger, softer, with a gentle smile on her face at all times. She likes to greet him with hugs and strangely, Will doesn’t mind that with her.

“Hi,” Will greets her and Valentina beams at him in answer. “Do you know who let the customer in?”

“Customer?” she asks in her shrill, excited voice which immediately draws a bunch of dogs to her. “What customer?”

Will turns around - but the woman is gone. 

“There was someone here,” he says with a frown. Or nobody, according to her.

Valentina pats him on the shoulder. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to come have a drink at Laurie’s after work? Network a little with the others?”

“Yeah,” Will says, still facing the spot where the woman stood a few seconds ago. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

~ - ~

After shooting Hannibal a quick message that he’ll come in a bit later tonight and that he doesn’t have to wait with dinner, Will follows Valentina to a small bar not far from the shelter.

Most of Will’s colleagues are here, chatting and catching up - a happy mingling of rapid-fire Spanish Will can’t follow. Most of them don’t even look at him. Valentina shoots him an apologizing glance and proceeds to the counter to get them a beer.

Will doesn’t mind being ignored. It’s nice to be in company again that isn’t Hannibal, and be only an observer. So much normalcy around him relaxes him and when Valentina comes back with a drink for him, they slip into conversation easily. 

It’s easier to let her do the talking - most of what Will could tell would be a lie in any case - and Valentina likes to talk. She talks about her house and her ridiculous rent, about that asshole of an ex-husband she has and about the son that left home two years ago. Will lets her voice lull him into a state of tranquility, nods occasionally and sips on his beer whenever appropriate. After a while, the bar empties - most of their colleagues move on to get drunk somewhere else, or to drive home to their families.

At some point, there is only the two of them left, and Valentina still hasn’t run out of conversation topics. Will orders his fifth beer, intoxication just slowly creeping into his system, making him feel happy and at ease.

Will feels him before he sees him. It’s as if his whole body is highly attuned to his presence. It relaxes and ignites at the same time - a weird, internal duality - and he senses that strange pulsing electricity.

Hannibal drapes his arm around Will’s shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affection - but Will knows differently. He is staking a claim.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice edged with… anger?

“What are you doing here?” Will asks, surprised but also happy to see him.

“Thought I’d better pick you up,” Hannibal states. “Or did you intend to drink and drive?

He doesn’t look amused, either. Is he pissed off?

“Valentina, this is… Jack,” Will says, Hannibal’s fake name rolling from his tongue awkwardly.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Hannibal says and takes her hand to kiss it.

Valentina, of course, is giddy with excitement. And rightly so - since they have started talking again, Hannibal has become a lot more like his previous self. His hair and beard are styled now, and although he still has a wild, feral energy about him, he carries himself with his old dignity again.

“Oh! Are you…?”

Hannibal just smiles, fending off the question with a sentence of his own. “I’m afraid I must abduct Flynn. We have plans for the evening.”

Rude. And also not true.

Will conforms, though, and Valentina nods as if she had made their plans herself. They say their goodbyes quickly, exchange another of Valentina’s famous hugs and then Hannibal ushers him out into a cool, starry night.

“How did you find me?” Will asks once they are out of the door.

“I tracked your phone.”

As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Will supposes it is, for them. 

“Okay. Why didn’t you just wait at home?”

“You shouldn’t socialize so much with other people, Will. One of them could recognize you.”

Abruptly, Will stops walking, forcing Hannibal to turn around and look at him.

“You are doing it again,” Will says.

“Doing what?”

“Fostering codependency. You’re jealous of her. She’s my colleague, Hannibal, you gotta calm down.”

Hannibal huffs a cheerless laugh. “Calm isn’t really my forte.”

 _Not when it comes to me, no._ Will smiles at that, oddly fond of this ridiculous man and his inappropriate jealousy. He steps closer, putting a hand on Hannibal’s arm as if to comfort him. At the sudden touch, Hannibal’s breath hitches - his face looks open and vulnerable against the night sky.

And in that moment, Will makes up his mind.

“I can think of something that’ll help.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This isn’t what I had in mind.”

Hannibal is pushing a shopping trolley through rows of shelves filled with convenience products, looking pained whenever Will puts something into the cart. It’s a sight to behold. 

“I want us to cook. Together. With ingredients of my choice.”

Hannibal’s eyes are full of despair when Will moves over to the beef products. Will allows himself to see what he sees for a moment: frozen, prepackaged abominations. 

“I wish you could have provided the meat in another manner.”

“Maybe I’ll provide the meat in a different manner later tonight,” Will says with a grin before he fishes out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from the ice cream freezer.

~ - ~

Hannibal’s mood softens once he has a knife in his hand, chopping a bell pepper with precise cuts.

It has been so many years since they cooked together, yet it still feels natural, like dancing around each other in a familiar space. If Will wanted to, it would be easy to avoid bumping into Hannibal all the time; their kitchen is spacious enough and Will is attuned to Hannibal. But Will enjoys it, enjoys grabbing a second knife from the cupboard and touching Hannibal’s bare forearm in the process, enjoys how his breath hitches again, just the smallest indicator of what Will is doing to him.

Will counts the seconds that it takes Hannibal to gather himself together again after he’s brushed his arm. Twelve and a half seconds later, Hannibal starts cutting once more, slower now.

“You are a horrible sous-chef,” Hannibal assesses after a moment.

Will is certain he is not referring to his vegetable cutting skills, but to the distraction he provides.

“Sorry,” he says, but it’s hard to keep from grinning. 

They cook in silence for a while, Will taking care of onions and garlic, until he bends to grab something from a lower drawer, bumping against Hannibal anew, this time with his behind. Hannibal stills again. He is focussing now, Will assumes, willing his body to show no reaction to a provocation that is becoming more and more obvious.

“Will. If you want something, you just have to ask for it,” he says, although he sounds like the one wanting something.

Will waits with his answer until he’s standing at the sink, rinsing off more vegetables. “I think we should take it slow.”

“Okay.” Hannibal sounds almost desperate. Will wants to laugh in delight. Maybe he is more drunk than he thought.

Teasing Hannibal for his jealousy is a small reckoning, but a lot of fun. An opportunity, Will knows, that he’ll have to exploit as thoroughly as he can. Hannibal won’t have him any other way. And Will does intend to deliver.

Hannibal continues cooking, and Will just takes a moment to look at his back, at the way the muscles work under his shirt in the same way they would if he’d cut into a victim. Will approaches slowly, unnoticed, before he envelops Hannibal with his arms from behind. The knife falls on the cutting board with a clang.

“You have been nice, the last few days. Time for a reward,” Will murmurs against Hannibal’s shoulder, inhaling his pure scent for the first time while pressing against him.

Hannibal has gone entirely rigid, hands frozen uselessly in mid-air. 

With a little shove, Will encourages him to turn around in his arms. Hannibal’s face is flushed, his mouth slightly agape and his trousers distinctly tented. 

Will locks his hands around Hannibal’s neck and draws him closer, kisses him before he can think better of it.

Their first kiss is chaste and sweet, entirely different from what Will imagined would be possible for them. Hannibal has soft lips and his beard feels funny against Will’s own.

When they part, Will laughs again. “This is spiky. I like it.” 

Hannibal has actual tears in his eyes. Finally, he starts breathing again with an exhale - it sounds like his entire soul leaving his body.

With a chuckle, Will leans in to kiss him again, deeper now, tongue exploring past the parted lips. After a few seconds, Hannibal finally begins to thaw, bringing his hands up to frame Will’s face, stroking his skin as if to make sure Will is actually real.

“I thought you wanted to take it slow,” he says between kisses, but Will doesn’t answer, too absorbed in the way their bodies are clicking together.

More kisses, still gentle, still delicate. They are both becoming more confident with each encounter of questing tongues and hungry lips, both ravenous for something they have denied each other for years and years. They took it slow, Will finds, way too slow.

With bumping foreheads and brushing noses they catch their breaths. Hannibal looks terrified and happy.

“Tell me what you want, Will.”

A few seconds of waiting before Will ends their game for good. “I want you.”

And with that, Hannibal picks him up and carries him to his bedroom, leaving their unfinished dinner preparations to spoil.

~ - ~

Hannibal puts him down beside the bed, but his hands stay where they were - right on Will’s ass, massaging and squeezing.

“I’m too dressed,” Will says and a moment later, the buttons of his shirt are flying all over the room. 

Hands roam his chest, his stomach, his sides, lingering on old scars while they kiss again, a hunt of mouths with the promise of sharp teeth.

“Keep going,” Will demands when Hannibal stops. 

The button of his jeans opens, the zipper of the fly goes down and then Will is standing in front of a fully dressed Hannibal in his underwear. Hannibal kisses his jaw and his neck before he goes to his knees, rubbing his face against Will’s thigh before he looks up at him fondly, the final question in his eyes.

Will smiles in return. His underwear joins his pants on the floor.

“Kiss me,” Will says.

Hannibal tries to stand up again, but Will keeps his head in place by holding onto his hair.

“Not on my lips.”

With another smile, Hannibal leans forward to press open-mouthed kisses against Will’s pubic bone. He breathes Will in, rubbing his nose into the hair there and continues on, exploring Will’s erection with soft lips. It’s barely a touch at all and Will is twitching for more contact. 

Further down Hannibal goes, licking and sucking on Will’s sac without ever breaking eye contact. The hand in his hair tightens, forcing him closer while the first moan escapes Will’s lips.

And then, suddenly, Hannibal’s warm mouth is closed around his cock, wet heat and suction blinding out everything else.

Will bucks forward involuntarily and Hannibal takes that too, takes everything, until his nose is buried in Will’s pubic hair again.

“God,” Will murmurs, guiding Hannibal forward and backward by his hair. 

Hannibal’s still looking at him, gaze black heat, and lets Will do what he pleases, succumbing to being used for pleasure.

Will lets Hannibal’s head go once he feels he’s getting too close. Hannibal is breathing raggedly; saliva is making his beard shiny. He has never looked better.

“Turn around,” he demands. “I want to kiss all of you.”

If he were less aroused, Will would say no. The way it is now, he strokes Hannibal’s bearded cheek for a moment before turning his back to him. 

There’s nowhere to hold onto, nowhere to grab, and Will doesn’t know what to do with his hands when Hannibal begins eagerly licking his hole. He squeezes a hand around his cock in a desperate attempt not to come on the spot, bearing the intrusive and addictive feeling of Hannibal’s wet tongue with a wiggle of his lower body and a low moan on his lips. 

Clutching onto his hips, Hannibal manhandles him, pushes him to the edge of the bed. Will gets the message and lets himself fall onto the mattress, burying his head in sheets that smell faintly of Hannibal. Another moan - the change of position gives Hannibal the opportunity to spread Will’s legs wider, lick deeper, almost breaching now and it’s so good that Will wonders how he ever lived without it.

The sensation ends too soon when Hannibal pulls away to breathe against him, pressing more kisses to Will’s ass and balls and thighs, leaving Will exposed, cooling and shivering, craving more.

With shaking legs, Will turns around and Hannibal climbs up to him to share an intense kiss. Tongues meet in languid lust while Will pulls at Hannibal’s clothes, wanting him undressed too, wanting to feel his skin on his own, and fast.

Hannibal pulls away to open the buttons of his shirt. “What do you want, Will?”

With every inch of bared skin, every inch of grey hair and trained muscle, Will wants him more. “I want… all of you.”

Hannibal presses a kiss to his lips while he slips out of his shirt.

“Inside you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Will is being pressed to the mattress, hot mouth exploring his upper body again. Out of nowhere, he hears the sound of a lid being opened. Tongue and teeth take care of his nipples while a first, slick finger goes exploring between his cheeks, and with a groan, Will closes his eyes to enjoy in full.

He knows that Hannibal is monitoring each of his reactions, so Will isn’t surprised when he isn’t asked if it’s fine. It is fine. It is weird and unfamiliar and a little painful, but it’s fine. Being stretched and widened to accommodate Hannibal’s girth fills him with pleasant anticipation. A little surprising, really, how much he wants this now. How much it seems to be a prediction come true, something that was bound to happen from the moment they first laid eyes on each other.

When Hannibal pulls away again to get rid of the last remaining pieces of his clothes, Will further spreads his legs in welcome. He is rewarded with a deep, breathtaking kiss while Hannibal fumbles between them. Will holds onto Hannibal’s neck, pulling him closer, and then they are one, finally united in an intense peak of pleasure and pain. 

Legs bound tightly above Hannibal’s ass, Will squirms to find the optimal position. For a few seconds, Hannibal is too overwhelmed to move, before he starts sliding in and out, slow at first. Will’s breath is ragged, even more so when Hannibal hits a sweet spot deep inside of him, drawing out a gasp, then a second, then more. Hannibal declaws Will’s hands from his neck, tangling their fingers. He’s clutching almost painfully, barely able to maintain his control, and Will has never felt as loved as in this moment, with Hannibal’s heavy panting next to his ear and his big, powerful body crushing him to the bed, crashing into him with more and more force and speed; the sound of skin slapping on skin and the feeling of Hannibal’s bones smacking against his ass.

He’s coming - and that is a surprise, because Will’s body didn’t give him much of a heads-up, but he is. It feels as if he’s sixteen again and just starting to learn how his body is working - a feast of intense delight, blinding and calorific, painting the place in between them white with his release, and for the first time in years, Will feels like he could achieve the same again right away.

Hannibal is grinding his hips against him and when he opens his eyes, Will sees him in the throes of orgasm as well - mouth open and brows knitted, forehead sweaty and closed lids trembling in bliss.

“Look at me,” Will says huskily.

Hannibal does, opening his eyes just a gap wide, but it’s enough to see that they are wet with unshed tears and full of emotions they are both unfamiliar with. Will kisses him then, desperate and on the brink of insanity, and Hannibal relaxes into it, into him, the exertion of his body coming to an end.

~ - ~

Afterwards, Hannibal plays with his hair while Will lies on his chest listening to his heartbeat. For a long time, they don’t talk, basking silently in a shared afterglow, until suddenly, they do.

“Why did this take us so long?” Hannibal asks. He still sounds shaken.

“One of us was in prison for most of our acquaintance.”

Hannibal kisses his hair. “I meant since then. Since the beginning of our new life here.”

“It didn’t feel right, giving in to you. Not with the discrepancy between what I want and what you want.”

“And now?”

“You promised change, Hannibal. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t,” Hannibal says, changing position so he lies next to Will, looking deep into his eyes. A quick kiss before he adds, “I intend to satisfy you.”

Will smiles and decided not to argue about it. Not now, not after this. Hannibal will have ample time to prove himself and his words. 

A kiss again, lower now, onto Will’s right clavicle. Hannibal turns them both, so Will is on his back again, hands beneath his head, watching Hannibal. Another peck, on the sternum now. A promise and a question.

“Hannibal.”

“Yes, Will?”

“I want you to fetch me something from the kitchen.”

Hannibal looks up to him, mood temporarily forgotten. “Are you hungry? Shall I make you something?”

“No,” Will says mischievously. “I want you to go to the freezer and get me the Ben & Jerry’s. And then I want you to eat it off of me.”

Hannibal looks both delighted and terrified.

~ - ~

Will wakes once.

Hannibal is still there, a warm and solid entity against his back. It’s easier than Will thought, sleeping next to him. He doesn’t snore, doesn’t move, really, and he seems fine with Will’s own hectic movements before and during sleep. Hearing his rhythmic breathing is intimate and relaxing.

The night is fully dark and at first, Will is not sure why he woke. Bad dreams, he supposes, but he doesn’t remember. He turns around, into Hannibal’s embrace again, but not before looking up once. For a second, his tired eyes seem to catch a shadow, a human silhouette, contrasting Hannibal’s neat bedroom. A blink and the shadow is gone. His imagination is playing tricks on him again.

With a frown, Will nestles into Hannibal’s chest, inhaling the scent of another human body to calm himself. He thinks back to the girl in the shelter briefly, before tiredness claims him again.


	4. Chapter 4

The lighting in Hannibal’s bedroom is different. Hannibal looks beautiful when he is asleep, morning light kissing his skin. Will sits beside him, watching, while the rays travel up his body, waking him gently when they reach his face.

The first thing Hannibal sees is Will. Will observes how his eyes are traveling lazily over his body - from Will’s exposed legs to the open shirt he is wearing - a little too big on his frame, because it’s the one Hannibal wore yesterday. When their eyes meet, Will can see glinting happiness.

“You looked so peaceful - I didn’t want to wake you.”

Hannibal sits up slowly. The sun moves up his chest, covering it in stripes of light, his chest hair gleaming. Will wants to reach out and touch him, feel his sleepy warmth against his hand. Instead, he grabs the glass of orange juice he put on the bedside table and hands it to Hannibal.

While Hannibal takes a sip, Will continues. “I want you to take me out to eat.”

A slight frown. “That doesn’t make much sense to me,” Hannibal says, voice a little croaky, and puts the glass back down. He moves closer to Will, placing a kiss on his jaw while his hands find their way beneath the shirt, touching his sides and his back. “I could either take you or eat you out. Take you out to eat sounds wrong.”

Will hums, amused and aroused. “You still owe me a normal meal. I’m in the mood for processed food and disgusting coffee that needs way more sugar than healthy.”

Hannibal looks pained, much like the previous night. Will knows he’ll do what he wants him to do, just like yesterday. He can still feel Hannibal’s tongue lapping up ice cream from his belly.

Another soft kiss to his shoulder before Hannibal stands up to walk around the room in his whole naked glory, unashamed to flaunt. Will’s eyes are glued to him. He wonders if they’ll really make it until after breakfast.

“Let’s go eat then.”

~ - ~

It feels nice to sit in a public place again, pretending to be normal. Will lets Hannibal choose the café - enough torture for one day. A nice place with good coffee and decent food, with free seats next to the windows so Will can enjoy the rainy weather outside while Hannibal is able to people-watch.

Now, after breakfast, they are enjoying a last coffee before their departure. Hannibal is slowly becoming roused enough for more conversation, talking about a masquerade ball, some pretentious social event he plans on attending. Will just nods occasionally, occupied with thoughts of yesterday, of how Hannibal felt against and inside him, the noises he made.

“I want you to come with me.”

That is enough to break his reverie.

Will shoots him an incredulous look.

“I’ve… never been to a ball.” _Why would you even want me there?_ “I don’t - I don’t have a suit for that.”

Hannibal smiles at him, taking his hand. “I do.”

Something catches Will’s attention from the corner of his eye. Outside, on the other side of the street, a woman stands motionless in the rain, staring at them.

It’s the woman from yesterday.

Hannibal notices his lack of attention and follows his gaze. 

“That’s strange… I met her yesterday, in the shelter. She said she was-”

“Will.”

The seriousness in Hannibal’s tone makes Will turn his head to look at him again. The hand holding his own is steady, but something in his voice seems off.

“We should go.” A smile and a squeeze of his hand, but it’s not genuine, just meant to allay. 

Without another word, Hannibal stands, ready to go, the rest of his coffee forgotten. The urgency makes Will nervous. _Just who is this woman?_

~ - ~

“Her name is Marlee Wilson. She was my patient some years ago.”

It’s too early for whiskey, and yet Hannibal still fills two glasses. Will accepts one gratefully, taking a gulp.

“What happened to her?”

Hannibal still looks reluctant to explain. “She is manic depressive. I helped her cope. She was… susceptible to unorthodox methods.”

Will closes his eyes. When Hannibal stops, he moves his hand, indicating to Hannibal to continue talking. Even though he doesn’t want to listen, this needs to be heard.

“After a few months of therapy she became romantically interested. So I ended it. She reached out to me during my stay in the BSHCI, expressing her unchanged feelings. I didn’t answer her letters. It’s troubling that she has found us now.”

Hannibal sounds neutral, unphased by her maniac love. Will rubs at his eyes until he sees stars. I’m nobody. The way she said those words, devoid of any zest for life. Drained by her feelings for Hannibal Lecter. 

Before Will answers, he empties his glass of whiskey. “How many are there? Like Randall Tier? Like Marlee Wilson? Like me?”

“You are not like them, Will. You are -”

“Don’t,” Will say and stands up abruptly. “Don’t even think about telling me I’m different.”

 _I’m just like them. Someone with dark potential. Someone you can mend your way._ Agitated, he wanders around their living room, suppressing anger and jealousy. Hannibal remains quiet. It only increases Will’s wrath.

“Am I just another pawn in your game? Do you think about throwing me away, too, because I’m not doing what you want me to do anymore? Am I disposable like her, Hannibal?”

“No, Will, you are not.”

A disgusting thought crosses Will’s mind and his face contracts. “You come to my place of work, get jealous about - about the last fibers of normalcy I try to build up in our fucked-up life. You control whom I talk to, where I go, what I eat. This isn’t a relationship, it’s _ownership_.”

Hannibal stands up and crosses to him. Will tries to fight the embrace he is being pulled into, tries to fight the manipulation, the new life he didn’t choose but so desperately wants. His resistance lasts but a moment. He gives in, sinking into the familiar scent and calming warmth.

“You never did what I wanted. You never behaved as I anticipated and that’s what makes you so special. You are correct. I am jealous. I am controlling. I want to own you, just as you own me.”

Hannibal presses a kiss into his hair.

“I love you, Will.”

Will exhales in a shudder. He buries his head deeper into Hannibal’s chest, heart pounding. _Do you even know what love is, Hannibal? Is this how you love - disgusting and depraved and all-consuming?_ “I’m trying to understand you. I’m just… wanting to get close to you.”

Hannibal is thinking. Will can hear his brain working while he’s being held in his arms. 

“Come to my bedroom,” he says finally.

Will pulls back, flabbergasted and scandalized. “Sex is not going to fix this right now! Are you insane?”

Hannibal looks entirely serious. “Will. Please.”


	5. Chapter 5

This time, Will enters Hannibal’s bedroom on his own two feet. Without Hannibal pressing kisses into his skin, it feels a lot more awkward. After their conversation and the sudden stroke of betrayal, the memories of last night sadden Will.

Casting curious glances at Hannibal, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, waiting for whatever he has in store for him. Will can hardly believe that there’s anything Hannibal can do that’ll make things better, that'll convince Will of his feelings.

What he expects least is Hannibal opening a drawer and taking out a knife.

“Please stand up,” Hannibal requests, coming closer in slow, measured steps.

And Will does, eyes pinned to the shining blade. Not a linoleum knife this time - a serrated blade instead. He did not resist last time, even when he had a gun in his hand, and he won’t resist now, if Hannibal wants it to end like this. He forces his eyes up, meeting Hannibal’s, which are both warm and sad. Different than last time, no forced coldness hiding the immense sorrow behind them now.

Will’s had it coming, he knows. Ever since the bluff, he’s known. It's even more painful now, after they have gotten intimate. A small taste of a life that could have been.

He’s startled again when Hannibal grabs his hand, gives it a light squeeze and places the knife in it. A wooden handle, smooth in his grasp, slightly warm from Hannibal’s hand.

Before Will can find words to say, Hannibal starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“What-”

“I want you to cut me.” As if he's asking Will to pass the salt.

Involuntarily, Will is entranced by the sight of slowly uncovered skin once more. Just as Hannibal’s torso is revealed bit by bit, so are Hannibal’s intentions. Will understands what he wants him to do. The hand around the knife begins to sweat.

Once the shirt is gone, Will reaches out to touch; traces an invisible line on Hannibal’s stomach. The skin is smooth beneath his forefinger.

Hannibal hums approvingly. He takes Will’s hand again, the one with the blade, guides it to his gut and positions it. The knife rests against the precise location where Will’s own smile starts. 

“Start here. Make it swift, Will.”

Will doesn’t move. He doesn’t even know what to think. His body is divided - one half screams for him to drop the knife this instant lest he do something stupid; the other half desperately wants to mark Hannibal in this particular way, wants to make them match.

The grip on his hand tightens. Hannibal pulls Will’s arm forward, only a little, and just like that he pierces Hannibal’s skin, the tip of the knife buried in his body. 

Will’s eyes are fixed to the point of contact, to the rivulet of blood running from the wound. He’s sure that Hannibal’s expression hasn’t changed, that he’s enjoying every last bit of the pain he is feeling, caused by Will. Will wonders how often he's imagined this.

Hannibal’s touch loosens and Will does the rest on his own. He knows the exact curve of his own wound and copies it the best he can. It isn’t as deep, of course, not nearly as life-threatening, barely more than a graze, but he knows that Hannibal will succeed in making it scar.

It is different from Will’s former experiences with knives. Slicing through Dolarhyde was violent, a feral satisfaction born out of battle. This feels like a loving caress, a moment both quiet and tender. Hannibal is bleeding for him, his heavy gaze like a physical weight on Will’s body. It feels wrong to finish, to pull out the knife, fresh blood covering its tip.

And how Hannibal’s gut looks now: Will can't help but trace the wound once more, feeling the incision, gathering blood on his fingers. Hannibal exhales audibly, cutting through the silence. Slowly, as if sensation is coming back to his body in a trickle, Will notices that he has gotten hard. A quick look down confirms that he's not alone. _Bunch of psychopaths we are._

His bloody hand is suddenly gripped and yanked up. Will’s gaze follows and finally he meets Hannibal’s eyes again, heated and dark, just as his fingers are taken into Hannibal’s mouth. A noise escapes Will - something low and savage and not quite human. The knife slips from his hand and hits the floor with a clatter.

Hannibal’s eyes close briefly while he sucks the blood off Will’s fingers. He is enjoying himself, tongue swirling around Will’s digits to capture every last drop of his own fluid. And just like that, Will wants to taste it too, to revel in this decadence with Hannibal. 

With a pop, Hannibal pulls off, fingers thoroughly cleaned. His lips are gleaming red when he speaks. “I’m all yours, Will.”

And with that, Will snaps, lunging forward and connecting their mouths in a brutal, messy kiss.

Hannibal meets him with eagerness, takes the bites Will gives him with zest. He is Will’s now, just as he has been Hannibal’s for so many years. Proof of their special connection, proof that Will is, indeed, more than the others. Proof that Hannibal loves him, and the kind of love it is: vicious and immoral and downright wrong. The love of a monster.

A faint metallic taste spreads in Will’s mouth and he wants more, wants to consume him. Will goes down on his knees, close to the wound, still bleeding. He opens his mouth, licks at it, palm of his hand pressed against his crotch to prevent him coming instantly.

Hannibal moans, grips his hair and pulls him closer. The flavor of Hannibal’s blood floods his mouth and he kisses his way across the wound until his lips are tainted red, all the while unbuckling Hannibal’s belt and sliding down his trousers to bare him.

A heady mixture of smells, the blood and Hannibal’s arousal, and textures to savor too, when Will pulls away from the wound to take Hannibal’s cock in his mouth instead.

This time, Hannibal is almost silent in his pleasure, fingers pressed into Will’s skull. His eyes, however, bore into Will and Will meets them head-on.

A new and strange sensation, but Will can't get accustomed to it, because Hannibal spills in his mouth almost instantly, expelling the taste of blood. This new taste is much more bitter, but Will swallows it nonetheless, greedy for all the different kinds of flavors that Hannibal can offer.

He sucks on his deflating cock until Hannibal whimpers from oversensitivity, and then some more, before Hannibal pulls him away by force, almost throwing him onto the bed.

Their mouths meet again, no less desperate than last time, and Will eagerly lets himself get undressed by fast, efficient hands.

Fingers curl around his cock and it doesn't take more than a few strokes for Will either, calloused fingertips feeling _just_ right, before he's coming in thick, hot spurts over Hannibal’s hand, orgasm as quick and overwhelming as this whole experience. 

Part of him wants to rub his come into the wound as well, a true sign of ownership, but Will contents himself with relaxing against the sheets, Hannibal breathing heavily against him.

“Okay,” Will says, after they have both caught their breath. “I believe you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Days pass in blessed silence.

Will feels utterly content. There are some nagging doubts remaining, but those are easily ignored, especially whenever Hannibal shows his new wound - which he often does, sitting outside in the sun, his belly proudly presented. Exposure to light will make the scar darker. Though it is but a faint line, the fact that _he's_ put it there, that _he's_ marked and claimed Hannibal, excites Will in a fashion previously unknown. It’s a dark arousal, thick as black fog, swirling and clouding his rationality.

Needless to say, their days are filled with passion, with moans of pleasure and the poetry of love.

The upcoming masquerade ball nudges itself back into their dual consciousness, breaking up their desolated time à deux. Hannibal still wants Will to come with him, and after what they have shared, he agrees. It’s a small sacrifice in the face of the happiness it will bring.

It doesn’t surprise him in the least that Hannibal has a whole collection of suits, ties and shoes for him, all fitted perfectly. A few hours spent freshly showered and naked on Hannibal’s bed while the other man is rummaging through his walk-in closet, searching for the perfect combination, before he knows just what Will needs to wear. A grey suit with a black and white paisley tie. Allowing Hannibal to choose for him - shirt and socks and briefs and all - is just as much part of Hannibal’s design as the performance itself. 

“Is this what I’ll wear?” Will asks, touching a mask made of silver, embroidered with translucent stones - diamonds, perhaps? - and with an elaborate, ornate design. It’s elegant and classy, almost feminine. 

Hannibal steps behind him. The wool of his suit scratches against Will’s naked back. “Yes,” he breathes, a kiss on his shoulder accompanying the word. “There will be opera afterwards.”

Will sighs heavily, leaning into the touch. “You know I won’t enjoy this.”

Hannibal smiles. “It might be a more stimulating experience if you wear these.”

Of all the things Will might have expected, these things are not one of them. Five balls, connected by a string, increasing in size. They are shining metallic, like the mask, and probably made of real silver too. The last one looks scarily large.

“Love balls, Hannibal?”

“Not quite. Ben Wa balls are used to train the pelvic floor muscles. These are different, meant to stimulate your prostate. See the flared base? Makes it safer to use in anal play.”

“You are not putting those in my butt.”

A breathed laugh against his neck. Will gets goosebumps all over.

“You are going to enjoy this. Now bend over.” He sounds smug.

Will does. He can’t help but obey. No matter how horrified he is, he is also intrigued by the possibilities. He leans forward slowly, bracing himself on the cupboard with his elbows, and breathes in deeply, preparing mentally.

Hannibal’s hands smooth over his back, a soothing motion, and Will closes his eyes, concentrates on his breathing. He doesn’t know when Hannibal found the time to coat his fingers with lube, but as his hole gets touched by them, they are slick. The glide is easy, almost familiar by now and with a moan, Will spreads his legs wider to accommodate Hannibal’s thick fingers.

They have barely begun to penetrate him, however, and he has barely had the time to get used to them, before Hannibal retrieves them.

“Open your mouth.”

Will does as he is told. The balls he’s previously been shown make a reappearance, dangling in front of his lips. He stretches out his tongue to catch them - they feel cold against it, smooth and clinical. Will takes the first into his mouth, then the second, third, fourth, fifth one. It’s impossible to take them all at the same time and at that realization, Will suddenly becomes rock-hard. When Hannibal shuffles behind him, he realises he’s not the only one. Will can picture it clearly - how Hannibal is getting off on Will standing there with his legs apart, his hole slicked, and his mouth eager to be filled.

Once Will has covered most of them with spit, Hannibal takes the balls out of his mouth again. The next step is logical, but more intense than Will would have thought. One by one Hannibal pushes them into his body, teasingly slow and steady, so that Will can feel his hole stretching around every single one of them before they finally slip in. It’s incredible arousing, thinking about Hannibal watching him like this, marveling in the way his body adapts to the intrusion, how he’s able to take every single one of them.

“Good?” Hannibal asks when all of them are placed inside, the tiniest one constantly pressing against Will’s prostate.

“Weird,” Will says. He’s never had a foreign object inside of him like this. “But good.”

Righting himself, he can feel the balls shifting. A low moan tumbles over his tongue. Hannibal squeezes his cheek appreciatively.

“Do you think you can handle this?”

Will laughs, the situation too unreal and comical for him to remain serious. A sudden relocation again, another escaped moan, and he has to wonder how exactly he is going to survive this.

~ - ~

It’s exactly as Will imagined it: too many people crowding an area too small. Music and drinks and flowers and chandeliers. Wannabe famous people basking in attention, chatting about vanities. Shrill colors and dazzling dresses, the smell of sweat and money. All of them trying to be mysterious in their masks and costumes, all of them unaware of the monsters hiding among them. An entirely uncomfortable experience, or at least it would be without the thrill of it. The thrill of the possibility of getting caught, of presenting oneself so publicly, as well as the thrill of the toy still inside Will, reminding him of its presence with every step he takes.

Hannibal is obviously enjoying himself. He is all smiles in his black and grey suit and with his simple black mask. It does nothing to hide the aristocratic features beneath, but it looks perfect on him, just as he looks perfect here. It’s the first time in years he’s been among a crowd but he still knows exactly how it works, entertaining people with made-up stories and smart remarks in perfect Spanish and laughing at appropriate times. Men and women alike are swarming around him like flies, and Will stands silently among them, remaining arm candy. Easier to focus on Hannibal’s behaviour, on the ease with which he socializes, than the pleasure he so desperately tries not to feel or express. And Hannibal is enjoying that as well, shooting him knowing glances from time to time.

Both the people and the sensation are easier to deal with after a few drinks, and so when the opera finally starts and they move to their private box, Will is satisfyingly tipsy, content to let the performance wash over him. It’s not like he can understand much of it anyway - something about two women loving the same count and resulting suspicion, jealousy and attempts to outdo the other.

Hannibal is beautiful enraptured and Will ends up watching him rather than the stage. The happiness he senses through his empathy doesn’t surprise him, but it makes him a little melancholic. Obvious that Hannibal missed this, that he thrives on all the turmoil, but also sad that no matter how much he tries, no matter how much their relationship develops, Will alone can’t be enough.

Will has to wonder how long it’ll be until he realizes he can’t live without killing after all.

As if able to hear his thoughts, Hannibal turns to him then, a knowing look on his masked face. Without a word, he takes Will’s head between his hands and pulls him closer, meeting him with a kiss. It’s not a tame one, either - tongue sliding into Will’s mouth almost instantly, making him clench around the balls inside him and pulling a soft moan from him. _God_ , he’s horny, and he has been ever since Hannibal opened him up with his fingers.

When they part, Hannibal’s eyes are glazed, desire reflected.

Performance forgotten, Hannibal starts to work Will’s belt open. He can only watch, fascinated and horrified, as Hannibal exposes him. Although they have their balcony box to themselves, the situation is far from being private - the next box is separated by a thin, red curtain only.

Will casts a panicked glance into the crowd below, most of the participants following the action on the stage with zest, while Hannibal starts stroking him, slow and torturous, with the same rhythm as the opera, like an instrument.

Another moan he can’t help and Hannibal bows forward, pressing a kiss against his throat.

“Quiet.” A command murmured into his skin.

Will grabs Hannibal’s arm and clings to it. Not to stop him, just to release the pressure in any way he can. And Hannibal does not stop; knows just what to do with his fingers, while the balls shift mercilessly inside Will, stimulating him from the inside. Will bucks his hips, precum starting to leak from his slit, and all he wants is for this to be over, to be tucked back into his pants, but also for the sensation to never end at all. He’s getting close fast, desperately trying to keep his breathing slow and even and failing horribly.

In one smooth movement, Hannibal takes out his pocket square, calm and collected, and places it around Will’s cock, strokes continuing, faster now, while he kisses up Will’s neck, pleasure spiraling, spiraling, until Will is being pushed toward the point of no return.

“Come,” Hannibal whispers into Will’s ear and he does, plunging his nails into the wool of Hannibal’s suit until his knuckles go white, biting his lip to keep from moaning, and spilling into Hannibal’s pocket square while the man on stage laments his soon-to-be-dead lover.

An additional challenge to stay quiet after that, heart pumping vigorously. Will leans his head against Hannibal’s shoulder while he folds his dirtied pocket square until it looks neat again, placing it back into his suit, with Will’s semen and all.

 _He will carry it around with him the rest of the evening,_ Will thinks, wiping off sweat from his brow. _He will smell me all the time._

“Hann-”, he starts, but Hannibal hushes him, eyes fixed again on the stage, absorbing the last few minutes of the play as if nothing had occurred.


	7. Chapter 7

After the play, Hannibal throws himself into the fray again. Will allows himself a break, retreating to the bar to get another drink. With the sexual tension relieved for the moment, he feels much more at ease. But the evening is not over and he is not yet home. He thinks about Hannibal’s bed, which has become his own in the past couple of days, and wishes to be there; hidden under the blankets, cocooned by Hannibal, shut off from the rest of the world. He wants to go back to work on Monday, wants to live the illusion of a normal life again. Too much of the old Hannibal is shining through today, and Will fears that the opera has awoken the monster from his slumber.

Cooling champagne quenches his thirst a little, blurring the edges in an agreeable fashion. He draws in a deep breath and the knot around his heart loosens for a second - just before he perceives something from the corner of his eye that makes his blood run cold.

She’s stealing the show in her long white gown, showing just the right amount of skin. One side of her mask is decorated with long, white feathers and in that dress she looks like Odile come to life. A farce, Will thinks. The role of the black swan would fit her much better. She’s instantly recognizable, despite her costume. The blond curls, the way she walks, the way her lips draw up in the cold mockery of a smile when she in turn lays eyes on Will, seemingly equally recognizable. She’s not afraid, not anymore. She has learned in the past to navigate her way through the storm and now she is searching for the thrill of it.

Fate isn’t a concept Will agrees with, but it’s hard to believe that Hannibal has set this up. What would the purpose of this meeting be?

Bedelia approaches, seating herself next to him at the bar. She winks for a drink and only after she has received her tumbler of whiskey does she address him. “Will. I was looking forward to meeting you again.”

Will would laugh if the situation weren’t so deadly serious. He tries to be careful, but he can’t keep the bite from his voice. “I can’t say the same.”

Her eyes bore into his. Calculating, planning. The same way she used to in their therapy sessions, with just a tint of superiority, playing her cards close to her chest. “I’m not the enemy.”

“Aren’t you?” Her presence can’t be good news. Hannibal stands at the center of his mind, the life they built together. It all could collapse now. Will thinks of Florence, of the ring on Bedelia’s finger, of the ring on Hannibal’s.

Bedelia leans back, swiveling her whiskey. “Without me, he’d be dead.” Confidence in her voice, in both her role and in the fact that Hannibal is still alive. “And he would say the same.”

Something clears up in Will’s mind just then, an epiphany he should have had years ago. “You were the one convincing him he needed to kill me back in Florence, weren’t you?” A whisper so as not to be overheard, but bitter nonetheless. “Without you, we could have leaped over years of suffering.”

The smile on her face brightens, but of course she doesn’t answer. “Do you think you are the first person he thought could understand him? He needs someone like him in his life. You are too different.” She leans closer and repeats something she has said to him before, her whiskey breath hitting his nostrils. “You are not a murderer, Will.”

 _But you are? Do you want him back? Or do you want to be the last wife so desperately?_ Will shakes his head. “No, he’s changing that. It’s not what he wants anymore.”

“But it’s what he needs. And you can’t give him that. If you want to make him happy, if _you_ want to be happy, you’ll let him go and return to your wife.” Finality, and the painful thing about it is that it works. Doubts sprout like weeds, nourished by the soil of uncertainties Will had already sowed. Hannibal’s image in the middle of his memory palace again: his face when he looks at him, the new scar on his abdomen. It's not enough to banish the doubts, but it gives him new strength. 

_He loves me, doesn't he? He said he did._

_He said many things, another voice in his mind says._ Marlee Wilson, pale and sickly, whispering in his ear. _You have seen how he looks like tonight, haven’t you? Radiant among all the pigs, truly in his element. Unlike you._

His breathing accelerates. New sweat on his brow when he says, both to Marlee and Bedelia, “There is no way someone like you could ever understand what we have.”

Bedelia smells blood. She deals the final blow. “I’ve been there, behind the veil. Nothing lasts. Nothing.”

Anger now. Anger and doubt and sadness. Every word hurts, needles pinching into infected wounds. His voice, however, is deadly cold. “Whatever happens between me and Hannibal is none of your goddamn business.” He has to leave. They have to leave. Now. He jumps up, glaring at Bedelia one last time. “So stay the fuck away from us.”

He leaves the bar without another word, frantically searching the room for Hannibal. He almost bumps into him on his way, getting caught by strong, warm arms that he wants to relax into. There is no time for it now.

“Will?” Hannibal whispers, voice concerned. 

“I want to go now.” His voice trembles, tainted with nervousness and so much fear.

“What-”

“Please.” Begging. “Let’s just... go.”

Will takes his hand. It’s enough to convey the gravity of the situation. Hannibal furrows his brow for a second, looks back at where Will came from. He must see Bedelia, still sitting at the bar, enjoying her whiskey with no care in the world. His nostrils flare briefly - he is, Will realizes, intimately familiar with her scent and taste.

Unfazed by her presence, he squeezes Will’s hand.

“Slowly. Let’s not attract unnecessary attention.”

Will wants to scream at that. Bedelia knows, she fucking knows that they are here and so do the FBI and Jack and the Vergers, probably. Who the fuck cares if some visitors to the opera think the two masked men leaving together is weird?

They retrieve their coats and make their way outside the hall, into a chilly, starry night. 

“Did you know?” Will says through clenched teeth as soon as they have retrieved their coats and are out in the chilly night. “Did you know she was here?”

“It is one of her favorite plays,” Hannibal explains while he beckons a taxi over. “I was curious about whether she would show up or not.”

Hannibal and his damned curiosity. It will kill them both eventually, and Will is just about worn out with his craziness. He is not yet sure if he wants to fall into his arms and never emerge again, or if he wants to punch him bloody.

Will says no more and only when they are safely stowed away in the backseat of the taxi, heading home, does Hannibal speak again.

“What did Bedelia say to you?”

Will looks out the window. Nothing but blackness ahead. “Nothing I didn’t already know.” He sighs. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Hannibal.”


	8. Chapter 8

Something is wrong.

The air feels different when they come home, like a storm beginning to brew. Instinctively, Will shies away from entering the house, an unsettling feeling seated deep in his stomach. It has nothing to do with Bedelia and it has everything to do with Bedelia. What if Alana’s henchmen are here already? What if Jack is waiting for them to come inside?

Hannibal picks up on his mood, as he tends to do. Maybe he feels it too: the sudden atmospheric change that precedes disaster.

They are greeted with an unhinged front door, broken open by an unknown force. Will goes for his weapon, but his hand grasps emptiness.

They exchange a look before Hannibal goes in first, silent as a cat, in his element again. Staying outside, Will quickly becomes nervous, anticipating the harsh bang of a bullet being fired, anticipating his life being destroyed. It doesn't happen. After a few long, dreadful minutes, Hannibal comes back unharmed.

He shakes his head softly, believing the house to be empty.

Nothing is missing. Nothing has been stolen. Someone just came in and took a look around and somehow, that makes things even worse. What did they find out? How much of their lives is tangible, just from their possessions?

“We have to go,” Hannibal says.

Will nods. They need to. “Let’s take your boat out. Spend the night at sea.” Maybe everything will be alright again tomorrow. Maybe all of this is just a dream.

His voice is calm, but his chest feels tense, panic threatening to consume him bit by bit. _Stay calm, stay calm, just get out of here for now._

The boat is equipped with the essentials in case of an emergency; no need to take anything with them right now. Will has almost nothing that he’d want to keep anyway. Most of the stuff in the house still feels like it belongs to Hannibal, not him. It’s with resignation that he realizes the only thing he’ll miss is his work. His world has contracted to Hannibal. Just him, only him. Each as the other’s only assurance. Both of them, forever, wherever. He chose this. He chose a life on the run. But right now, it feels as if even Hannibal could vanish like the rest.

The water is dark and calm, the wind even colder than before. They make their way over the docks, two gentlemen dressed in fancy suits. Will realises that he is still wearing his mask and he tears it off in irritation, trying to resists the urge to throw it in the water. At some point, Hannibal has taken off his own. His face is constrainedly neutral in the moonlight.

Even though it is his boat, Hannibal doesn’t know how to sail it, or at least he has never done so before. He says as much, in simple, calmly-spoken words and it’s up to Will to take the helm. The wood feels hard and stable beneath his hands, reassuringly smooth, and he grabs it just a little too hard. Hannibal hands him a map and they speak no further. Will concentrates on the handling of the boat, getting a feel for the vessel, bigger than most boats he has navigated. He sets off for a nearby cove to hide in and once they are anchored, he can breathe again.

He hadn’t realized how much he’s been riding on adrenaline until all of the tension suddenly vanishes, cleared away by the sharp, salty sea air. A certain amount of fury has driven him and now that it has faded away, the bitter taste of fear takes its place.

Will shivers, cold in his thin suit all of a sudden, and that’s the moment he realises those damned balls are still inside of him.

He wants to be mad at Hannibal for being so careless, so reckless, he really does. But the thing that gets to Will the most - his own doubts - are hardly Hannibal’s fault. He’s tried to prove his love, again and again. Bedelia’s words keep spinning in Will’s head however, hitting bull’s eye again and again. He just wants this day to be over.

Hannibal has gone below deck already and when Will starts searching, he finds him in the bedroom. He is changing the bed sheets. As if they’ve had a chance to become dirty. There isn’t a trace of dust on the cupboards. It’s his way of coping with things: bringing order to a life that threatens to perish in chaos.

Will doesn’t even wonder that there is only one bed, snuggled tightly by the walls on both sides, covered in fresh, expensive-looking sheets the color of burgundy. It looks cozy, inviting. _Love nest_ , Will thinks. Wishful thinking on Hannibal’s part, probably.

Hearing him approach, Hannibal turns around. Will knows him well enough to see the softness in his eyes. No matter what happens, it never fades when he looks at Will. 

“Do you want to talk?” he asks, voice doing a better job of staying emotionless. He meets him with neutrality, maybe because he doesn’t know how Will is feeling, maybe so he doesn’t transfer his own emotions onto him.

“No.” Will crosses over to him. “I want you to take my mind off things.”

Will lunges at him for a kiss, black despair on his tongue. It’s not gentle, but Hannibal meets him eagerly. He craves it just as much, mouth opening willingly for him, hands cradling his head and guiding their faces to slot better together.

“You were beautiful today,” says Hannibal when he gets the chance to between kisses, removing Will’s jacket and beginning to unbutton his waistcoat. “Let me make love to you.”

Will shakes his head. He pushes Hannibal backward, throws him onto the bed and climbs in his lap, straddling him, rubbing his hardening length against him. “I want you to fuck me.”

Hannibal opens his mouth and Will uses the opportunity to kiss him. A moment later, Hannibal’s eyes are closed again, his fingers balled into Will’s shirt, and Will feels at ease. He needs this, needs the easy distraction, needs not to feel loved right now, but wanted, wanted bodily and passionately.

His grinding does not go unanswered. Soon enough, Hannibal is just as hard. And then, suddenly, their roles reverse and Hannibal takes the lead, pushing Will half off him to catch his breath.

There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. “On your knees.”

Will moans wantonly and does as he is told, presenting himself. Lets Hannibal rip down his pants once he’s positioned, lets him see him at his most vulnerable. For a moment, nothing happens and Hannibal just rummages around until he finds what he’s looking for. He hears slicking sounds and then Hannibal’s hands are on him again, caressing his legs and behind.

“You are a greedy boy, are you not?” Hannibal asks him, placing kisses on his cheeks. His voice sounds different now, more authoritarian. “Wanting to get fucked again when I just made you come in public.”

Will whimpers. His face grows red from shame and arousal. This is exactly what he needs and Hannibal delivers it perfectly.

Slowly, Hannibal pulls out the toy. Every inch is both torture and immense pleasure, feeling both intensely weird and intensely good. When it’s out, he feels strangely empty. He has grown accustomed to the sensation of being filled.

“What is it that you need, Will?” Hannibal asks, slick thumb caressing his stretched hole but not yet entering.

Will growls, hiding his face in the cool sheets. “Your cock,” he says quietly.

Hannibal hits him then, right on his cheek and with quite some force. Will’s head bolts up in surprise, his ass vibrating with the pain.

“Look at me when you’re speaking to me.”

Will turns around and looks at Hannibal. It’s only a game, but Hannibal does not do things half-heartedly. He looks beautiful, still fully dressed, suit pants dropped to expose the member he’s holding in one hand, glistening with lube. Will’s mouth waters at the sight.

“Do it again.” Looks at Hannibal, straight into his eyes.

Another blow, just as forceful, on the same cheek. Will winces, but he moves back into the touch.

“Again,” he says and another spank is received.

“Again.” Another. “Again.” Another. “Again.” His voice quietens, getting thin, and he gets another.

Hannibal doesn’t give him the chance to demand more because just like that, he mounts him, slick cock sliding into Will’s already stretched hole in one swift movement. He starts fucking him immediately and it hurts, it hurts, but it hurts _so good_.

Will clenches around him but it doesn’t matter. Hannibal goes at him like an animal in rut, with no consideration for him at all. His backside burns up, from the strokes and the sudden penetration, and yet every time Hannibal sinks into him, fast and brutal, he can’t help but love it. Loves the pressure on his prostate, loves the sensitivity of his reddened cheeks, loves to just be taken, Hannibal’s fingers holding onto his hips violently. Will closes his eyes and tears are falling, new ones building with every thrust. He grabs the blanket and just hangs on, mind going blank, everything fading except the beautiful pain he is receiving.

He’s loud, he knows, volume and pitch increasing, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying, if he’s saying anything at all. Hannibal is entirely quiet, except for his labored breathing and the slick, dirty sounds of his cock ramming into Will again and again.

It can’t take long, but it feels like forever and Will never wants it to stop, never wants to climb the high he is being presented with, but Hannibal forces him over, forces him into a mind-blowing orgasm that leaves him shaking and sobbing. Just a few seconds after, Hannibal finishes inside of him, hips bucking, pressing incredibly close to spill into him as deep as possible.

He stays like that a few moments before he pulls out slowly. Will is entirely done, face wet with tears and body aching all over. He sinks to the bed and lets Hannibal take care of the rest. Lets himself be undressed and wrapped in the blanket, lets himself get pulled close into an embrace, head resting on Hannibal’s sweaty chest.

“Thank you,” he murmurs weakly, incredibly tired, sore and empty.

Hannibal presses a kiss against his forehead, hugging him tighter, and Will falls asleep to him saying,“I love you”.

**Author's Note:**

> All my "Thank you"s go out to my beta [fragile-teacup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup/) who isn't even afraid to tackle a project like this!
> 
> Come visit me on my [ tumblr ](http://www.pka42.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Like what I'm doing? Consider [buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A842K38/)!


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